The Red Room
by Musether
Summary: The Red Room. Horror story set in the 1880s. Victoria Slighcarp visits the manor of a friend and experiences increasingly bizarre visions. Is this real, or is something far more sinister at hand? What is stalking her, and can she stop it?
1. Prologue

**The Red Room**

_**Prologue:**_

Mist hung in the air, like spectral phantoms from the netherworld, encircling Glebe Manor in its cold, icy tendrils. Dark storm clouds gathered overhead and from far away, the first faint clap of thunder could be heard. The mist grew thicker, obscuring the stable house, which was viewable from the main mansion in icy whiteness. The baying of several hounds belonging to the Master of the estate: Lord Gladstone, rose to a pitch as a large and relatively luxurious carriage approached the wrought-iron gates of the estate, and drove up the circular gravel drive. Night was falling, rapidly and the manor was light up by the intense lights of the gas lamps in each room. Servants sped around the manor, tiding up and closing curtains before retiring back to their quarters. The carriage stopped, and the driver courteously opened the door of the carriage for the mysterious occupant. A cloaked figure stepped out, silhouetted against the bright light of the porch gas-lamp, before a mild-mannered lady's maid answered the door. The figure entered, and with it brought the mist which had clung to the stranger's cloak like a baby to it's mother's breast. The door closed and the night was shut out, or was it?

Darkness had arrived at Glebe Manor.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

_Crimson Red_

The ante-room, which led on from the porch entrance opened up into the Grand Hall. Circular in appearance, it was a very bizarre thing for it's day, with a gallery running along the upper levels, and a large, prominent staircase dominating the space opposite the doors. Black and white chequered marble was polished to perfection, and a squeak was heard as the lady's maid put a petite, round-shoed foot on the floor. A large chandelier hung in mid air, suspended from the ceiling by an ornate gilded chain, and below it lay an expansive, highly-detailed rug similar in appearance to the Bayeux Tapestry. Several straight-backed mahogany chairs were arranged against the walls, each one separated by either an gold-framed oil painting, or a marble statue. A large fire blazed in one side of the room, and two winged fireside chairs stood, their backs facing diagonally towards the ante-room.

The bright light of the gas-lamps had been dimmed slightly, and shadows were cast in the corners where the light did slightly not reach. The two fireside chairs were mostly thrown into shadow, any occupants remaining hidden. There was a rustle from the gallery landing above, and a pale yet beautiful looking woman descended from the gallery staircase. She looked tired, and yet … so full of energy. She dismissed the lady's maid and then turned her attention to the stranger.

"Allow me to introduce myself," The woman said, her eyes blazing deeply in her bruised sockets. "I am Lady Gladstone, wife of Lord Gladstone." The figure nodded and removed their cloak, revealing an expensive crimson silk dress. She moved to the fire-place and for the first time, her face was illuminated. She had a thick-set frame, with many flashing rings on her bejewelled fingers. Her eyes were small, and her eyebrows firm. Her mouth slanted downwards, in a disagreeable way and her tone of voice was one of thinly-veiled displeasure. "Good evening, my lady," She said, her voice deepening slightly. "I am Countess Slighcarp. I believe your husband knew my deceased husband, Count Slighcarp." She turned and glanced up at the younger woman before moving to the foot of the staircase.

Clutching the wooden banister, Countess Slighcarp slowly climbed up the stairs, pausing to glare at Lady Gladstone before moving up onto the gallery. A small oak door was set in the white panelling, partially open. Countess Slighcarp entered the doorway and found herself in a long, deserted corridor. Heavy, violet velvet curtains hung at the windows, and gas-lamps were placed every other five metres. At the far end of the corridor were a set of white imperious-looking double doors, surrounded by yellow ornate trim. A low hooting from the woods could be heard through the Gothic windows that stood behind the curtains, allowing meagre light into the corridor. The floorboards protested miserably as Victoria Slighcarp began walking slowly down the corridor. The door behind her closed gently, and she heard the sound of a rustling dress fade away down the circular gallery. There was absolute silence, broken only by the quiet breathing of Victoria as she slowly made her way stately down the long corridor, and the protesting moan of the floorboards. The closer she got to the far end of the corridor, the further way it appeared to get.

Eventually, after estimating she was at least a good way down the corridor, she stumbled upon a dilapidated bookcase, which was most unlike anything she had seen in the manor yet. Several tomes were stacked, their binding cracked and worn. A few hardback books were arranged, like soldiers on parade, each and every one precisely aligned and perfectly straight. It was the thing that was behind the bookcase that intrigued her most of all. Unlike many of the bookcases she had seen in her life, this one didn't have a backing cover. The wall was bare, and painted a hideous shade of brown. Several iron studs were inset in the wall, and the bookcase had been slightly shifted away from the wall to allow for this. She stared in disbelief at it for a moment, the light of an overhead gas-lamp continuing to illuminate the back wall. Then, it clicked in her mind. It wasn't simply a back wall that had been painted. It was a door.

After staring at it for a great deal of time, she finally came to her senses and realised that she should be looking for her room: indeed, this was the whole point of her coming down this corridor. Having been a frequent guest to this house for many years, she was surprised at having spent so much time in one place, as she was not the type of woman who could bear being in one place for long. She turned and hurried away from the bookcase, afraid to look back lest she be mesmerized by the bookcase, and the mysterious door. She eventually reached the imperious-looking double doors and opened them quietly, peering into the darkened chamber, before entering silently. She undressed quickly and climbed into the deserted bed, before falling into a disturbing slumber of vivid images of the bookcase, the mysterious door, and a foreboding sense of ill-ease.

In her dreams, she was standing in front of the bookcase, while a low moaning erupted from the end of the corridor. She turned in a daze, and saw a hulking, disfigured shadow lurch towards her. Screaming, she turned back to the bookcase, only … it wasn't a bookcase, it was a mouth: smeared with a reddish-brown stain and had several rows of gnashing yellow teeth. She turned back to the shadow, but it had gone. The mouth had also vanished, replaced with the door. She moved towards it, edging carefully as though attempting to work her way through a minefield. The door swung open slowly even before she laid a finger on the handle. Inside was a oily rich darkness, unlike any darkness she had seen before. Not even a glimmer of light penetrated this abnormal darkness and there were no sounds from within the doorway. Stepping gingerly into the darkness, Victoria didn't pause for a second, even to lift her rustling nightgown. She stepped in, and the door immediately banged shut, trapping her in the impenetrable darkness. Her heart palpitated wildly as she looked around in utter nervousness, attempting to feel her way through the darkness. Suddenly, a loud scream echoed from what seemed to be the centre of the room, and Victoria froze as she attempted to orientate herself towards it. What can only be best described as … a 'thing' brushed her nightgown as it flew away, and it was only a few seconds after that she noticed she was able to discern a few things in the lifting darkness. A shape lay on the floor, barely discernable from the rest of the darkness, but quite clear to anyone who was within range. It was a body. Ruby-red lips glistened from below a tangled mess of luscious brunette hair, and the body was clothed in exquisite cloth: deep purple silk. The body didn't appear to be breathing, and Victoria knew in the bottom of her heart that whatever had flown past her a few minutes ago had murdered this poor soul. One strange thing that Victoria noticed about the victim was her hands: They didn't fit her image. Heavily veined and calloused looking hands lay either side above her head, as though she had been tied to something. She slowly took in the rest of the girl's body and gasped. She knew the girl. It was none other than her own mother, younger.


End file.
